Sumatran

by Emily D. Wood

I peer out through the fan-like leaves, crouching low to avoid detection. If these creatures could really see, they’d notice the large amber eyes split with black crescents monitoring their every movement. A tree bearing the unmistakable territory markings of my mate₂ slams to the ground startling me out of my concentration. These creatures are formidable in skill. Never have I seen anything take down a whole tree. As I study their movements, I feel a roar deep within my soul. Part instinct, but mostly hunger. Since these two-legs moved into the territory, my food source has dwindled. Now I sit, and I watch. Perhaps these things will serve as a replacement for the now-absent prey. Hunting flows through my veins. My senses are sharp, and a displeasing smell like none other surrounds me. Accompanying the smell is the roar of some animal I have never heard or seen before. Round legs? Seeming slaves of the two-legs. My instincts tell me to get out of here and get back to the safety of my den. I cannot hunt here today.

 

 

Back in the safety of the den, I look around the cave. I am unsure. My instincts are not giving me information about the two-leg creatures. I cannot afford to succumb to malnutrition. The den provides little comfort now as I lay on the cool, moss-covered stone. My ancestors chose this location at the heart of the jungle next to the stream. The gurgling flow provides a constant supply of water, the occasional fish, and always a relaxing whisper of water flowing over the rocks. I watch as my own cubs splash in the water. The memory of the two-legs interrupts my tranquil thoughts.

 

My cubs and I will die if the food supply continues to diminish. Sure, I have been hungry before, but that is the way of the jungle. I survive in harmony as great Nature gives and withholds. Nature has not brought this fresh hell upon my kind. Nature would never deplete the food supply so harshly. It seems as though great Nature herself is being attacked by the two-legs. My cubs and I are in need of a replacement for prey. We live to hunt. These creatures will have to suffice as a food source.

 

I set out to stalk the two-legs. I am startled by the sudden presence of a clearing where once a part of the jungle forest stood. I keep close watch, but no move is to be made just yet. As with all prey, I must wait until someone strays from the herd. One of them will surely take on the task of marking their territory. These animals do not seem swift on their feet. Their movement is nothing like the deer or pigs I usually hunt. I see that the two-legs are taking the trees away again on the backs of the strange animals. I suspect they will return in the morning hours since these creatures seem to maintain habitual routines. I will rest until then.

 

 

Daksa starts the fire so as to burn a bit of the small stuff not worth carrying on the truck and so the men can heat up a bit of food. Deep down, he has decided that being here is wrong. He was told they would only take a few trees. Harmless. They would take the trees, and no one would get hurt. He only agreed because he needed the money. And he believed them. The boss had assured the whole crew that the habitat would remain intact. Looking around, he realizes he has been lied to. He has decided that this will be his last day working for this company. Also, he is certain what they are doing is illegal. Never having had much education, he had no idea what he was getting into, just that he needed to feed his family. Now, he knows this is wrong. He has seen no logging permits. Daksa whips his head in the direction of a horrifying sound in the distance. A man is screaming.

 

 

The lush greenery accepts me with open arms. I am part of this jungle. We know and protect each other. I am patient as I sneak my way to the edge of the clearing that seems to steadily grow larger. As dawn breaks, the two-legs arrive in the clearing astride, no inside, these odd animals they use as transportation. It is unlike anything I have ever seen. Now I sit, wait, and listen to the sound of trees falling to the ground. This is what I am built to do. Hunt, stalk, attack. I can be extremely patient.

 

I will stalk them until one goes off alone to mark his territory. This will be the time to strike. Leave your herd, leave your protection. The two-legs have created something new. I recognize the colors as they are the same ones that cover my body. The creatures gather around this tiger-colored thing as though worship is the intention. Then I see movement. One of them steps out of the group and begins to walk directly into the path where I am hidden. My senses are keen and alert. I creep closer for a better angle. The two-leg unknowingly walks into the vegetation. One wrong step would have him walk right over me. As the creature turns his back to urine-mark his territory, I take him into careful consideration. I pounce rendering him helpless with one powerful bite to his neck. Orange, black, and amber collide with brown flesh. My warrior’s teeth-knives pierce deep and mortally.  This two-leg has but a short time but manages to release a high-pitched roar unlike anything heard in this jungle before. I quickly take only part of the meal. I bite off pieces and carefully drag them back to my den. At least my cubs will have a meal this week.

 

*Previously published in The Rubicon Troy University Department of English

Student Literary Journal: Issue 6, Spring 2012

Bio: Emily D. Wood was born in the southern town of Fort Payne, Alabama and was raised in the nearby town of Rainsville. She has an English degree from Troy University and is currently pursuing a Master of Arts in Writing at James Cook University in Queensland, Australia. She has had work published in Troy University's Literary Journal The Rubicon. She has also written articles for Deep South Magazine and The Local (a local newspaper in Dothan, Alabama). She blogs at Quill and Parchment.